Ultimate DC ToM 02 Coming of the Lord
by ShiningIdeal
Summary: The Phantom Stranger comes to Spain during the Reconquista in search of a missing artifact. Once he is there, he is forced to contend with a foe from his past who may be just as mysterious.


Disclaimer: Phantom Stranger is the intellectual property of DC Comics and I make no claims of ownership. The remaining characters however are of my creation.   
  
Notes: This is the second 'issue' of an ongoing series as part of the Ultimate DC fanfiction project. To see the newest works and material by all of the authors, visit the page in my profile. I took a few liberties with Spanish history for this story so I do hope no one will hold it against me too much.  
  
Part One - I am tired, I am weary  
  
Toledo was the jewel at the center of the peninsula, as far as so many were concerned at that time. Resting so centrally at its heart, with such a diverse population there was a certain degree of both tactical and social importance that was attached to its possession.  
  
Blood and humors would be spilt despite whatever best wishes may be involved, but such was the burden that weighed dark within the nature of free choice. How different was he, when he had come to the city only out of self-interest in this time. He would claim that his was a pure duty that he undertook to protect others as well as he could, from themselves and from others. Unfortunately, eternity taught one they could only lie to themselves so much and every tyrant in history only thought they were acting in the best interest of the world.  
  
Despite the presence of forces fighting so close to the city, it had not been hard for a single stranger to go unnoticed entering through the north gate of the city. Would that he could have found the city in a better state than it was. The chaos of the Castilian forces on the move had caused a breakout in hostilities between the citizens of the city.   
  
It wasn't simple, he thought. Not here, not in this time. Nothing was going to be simple and watching this grand city which was renowned for its higher learning erupting into chaos would have made him shudder in the long cloak were he not already so driven. This could be simple, and he hoped the time had not passed in which it would be. Still he regretted that the timing would have to be like this.  
  
He wasn't as familiar with the city as he would have liked to me, he would be trapped if troubles came, or as trapped as such a wanderer might be. Best to do his business here, get what he came for and be out before any more trouble started. The path the Jewish district was relatively untroubled and he knew the house he sought from his visions.  
  
There was a certain degree of comfort here that had been lacking in the other cities of Europe, he noted. The taifas had needs of their Hebrew subjects and had seen them recompensed for their worth. That was all ending now, and things were destined to grow worse. How much longer until this city too began to build ghettoes for those perceived as second class. It wasn't his trouble anymore, he had learned to stop being concerned with the troubles of mankind. It was far better to simply accomplish what would be needed if he could block out the side thoughts.   
  
Focus was something he found in short supply of late, with so much bloodshed from so many places a river flowed before him that pestered at his thoughts. It drew his attention too many places, part of why he was so late in coming to this city. The knowledge within it however, could not fall. That much was imperative.  
  
Finally he came to the home he sought, and saw a light burning in the upper window. As he walked into the building he began to grow concerned. There was no scent of cooking nor burning fragrances to purify the air.   
  
The stairs creaked under his feet as he ascended to the room where he trusted the owner of the house would be. That what he found was a murdered body and a looted room only convinced him that he should not have let himself be troubled on the way to this city. Had he saved a few hours, then he would have not needed to deal with this.  
  
He bent at his knees to close the man's eyes, they were still wide in surprise. There was little point in looking through the room for the item he had come to collect. The dagger was left in his back, through the spine as a symbol to those knowledgeable. The Cult of Shadowed Mysteries had been here and claimed its prize.  
  
He looked down at the man as he stood, in a hint of contempt. He had failed to ward his own home against evil presences and this was the price he had paid.   
  
"It seems we are both too late, stranger," came a voice from behind him. A voice he recognized and that he had somehow let surprise him. He tensed.  
  
Part Two - I Could Sleep For A Thousand Years  
  
And his eyes cast slowly over his cloak covered shoulder, eyes hidden in the darkness of his hood peering at this other visitor, the other traveller in the dark of night when all good men were home with their wives and children. There was a recognition, if he did not know the man, the thing, he knew what he was. The Grigori. Whether it was name or title was harder to judge. And they had met before.  
  
"I see you remember me. Rome wasn't it? And you were enamored of a sort over one of the statesman. In a state of bliss. Tully was it?" The man's fair features turned up with a smile, but it was his timeless eyes that he was concerned with.   
  
He refused to be baited so easily. "What has awoken you sleeper?"  
  
"A most delightful dream, your name was on my lips when I woke up --"   
  
But before the name could be spoken, he frowned at the Grigori, holding his hand up. "I would not be addressed by you as anything but a stranger, for I would not have you as my friend. What beasts have you spawned here?"  
  
"I have never guided man astray, in fact I have done more for them than you in your brooding," the figure spoke. The grin of teeth against his lips was meant to discomfort but it was nothing he hadn't seen before. "Like so often, it is that human element that taints others, my plans and yours."  
  
The stranger in this city cleared his throat, a glance around. "If you had nothing to do with this then you waste my time," he said with a pause. Then a realization dawned on him. "You waste my time because you have other plans." And with that he turned to go, a curse under his breath for being so easily fooled.  
  
"Fare well my colleague," the man called after him as he disappeared down the stairs. Left in the study the Grigori smiled and walked over to the candle light.  
  
He lifted the candle in his hand and walked back to the corpse, opening the victim's eyes again and denying him the serenity of death. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that the ones who stole flame would return?"  
  
Setting the candle's flame against the dried parchment spread its light quickly through the room but he didn't stay to see it. There were more important things than the enjoyment of a flamebringer.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
He still cursed to himself as he moved through the city. He had come with such haste to Toledo that he didn't allow himself due caution and had walked into a trap because of it. How long did one exist before they were saved from their own foolishness he wondered.  
  
He couldn't worry of it too long, however. There was danger in the city and he was now hunting a needle in a haystack. Worse he had no idea what form the knowledge would truly be in, whether book, parchment or something more esoteric. And he knew his adversary would know exactly what he was looking for.  
  
His tongue ran over his teeth in thought, thoughts that drifted uncomfortably back to the Republic. Men truly stood as the titans they worshipped and feared. Never again would they stand so proud and so mighty, even when it came crashing down hope remained. He remembered Cicero fondly even after the betrayal. His magnetism and oratory skill had drawn the attention of a wandering stranger even then. He had stayed near to watch him and find the manifest goodness in the man. The last great roman. When the Empire fell he didn't weep, only laughed when some backward franks tried to rebuild it.  
  
He chastised himself for indulging on the memory. It was the frailty of humans and nothing more, and nothing that he should concern himself with. It was only the mission that was important and if he did not hurry, time would have run out for him.  
  
"You, stranger!" A voice called out, and he turned to face the man. His complexion and dress suggested he was a Muwallad and a guard of some sort. There was almost a hint of pity for what his fate would be but instead he steeled his face.  
  
"Yes, guardsman?"   
  
"Why are you in this quarter, stranger? Do you not know the city has had an ordered curfew."  
  
He frowned somewhat. Any other night and the city would be peaceful, but Alfonso and Vivar so close to the city meant trouble. The timing was against him.  
  
"I am talking to you," the guard barked out. His hand had fallen to grip his weapon more tightly.  
  
"A thousand pardons sir, but I was simply in such a hurry. My dear friend was murdered and I sought a member of the guard. I am pleased to have found one so vigilant."   
  
The man coughed once, "Tell me the quarter this took place in, and I will see to it. Once you have been seen to safety of course."   
  
He frowned at the words, he truly didn't wish to spend his power this way. But, letting this guard get in his way would cause far more trouble in the long run. He gritted his teeth and reached out, his hand bathed in an eerie shadow which clung to his gloves and jumped to the mans weapon.   
  
Frozen in fear and silenced, the man gasped as his weapon leaped from his arms, the spear tip aimed at his heart.   
  
He didn't stay to watch, there was too much else that needed to be done.  
  
Part Three - A Thousand Dreams That Would Awake Me  
  
The Grigori was not fond of wasting time, at least not when he was awake. But still he couldn't help think of the others of his kind and of their children. Surely if he had children as well he would not be so lonely in his sleep.   
  
No, if he had children, he would not be lonely because he would still be with the others of his kind. And he shuddered at the very thought of what that would entail. If it was better to rule in hell than serve in heaven, where then did that place service in hell?  
  
Minions could serve far better than children regardless and so he reached out into the night, the heat still hanging uncomfortably to the air. Felt even more in the long heavy folds of his robe, he was only glad that the clergy here was not enamored of hair shirts. The mosque was near the university, and he had to debate in which he would find greater service.   
  
The assassins would be near to the place of worship, they had still practiced their craft with sanction. The crusaders had taken their measure again and again and it would come to a head. Barbarism would meet barbarism until the world burned around them. At this the Grigori couldn't help but smile slightly.  
  
He mused as he entered into the building, that were he some greek hero he might take this time to recount his plan, to offer some tragic note of his own heartbreak. Then he realized how much he had detested the Greeks and how hard he had tried to sleep through their glory days. No, better to do his business quietly and see his friend, denied or not.  
  
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He walked purposefully still but could not be sure, not yet. It was a large city as things were reckoned and a large city in chaos to make it even more intolerable. The people swarmed despite the guards' best intentions and attempts to enforce a curfew. There was simply too much energy tonight.  
  
He silently cursed the Grigori as well. Had he not let the beast fluster him so then he would have been able to find out more information at the scene. The clue that would lead him to his goal. The goal that would let him leave this burning, stinking city to its own devices. To somewhere he didn't have to be reminded of how low humanity could sink.  
  
Drawing the hood of his cloak up again he watched the people, rubbing and pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to push away the coming headache. He had to go back, and there was little else to it. He was wandering blindly now.  
  
And so he started off again, back to the scholars home. The clues would be waiting for him there he hoped.  
  
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The man could feel the blood trickling down his face, the pain in his chest. The bones had snapped with that wet snapping sound. "We d-don't know..." he paused, trying to catch his breath and spit out some of the blood lining his tongue.  
  
The Grigori however did not seem interested in the answer that would follow, his patience was extended on this one. And with his death perhaps the others would talk more easily. There was a certain satisfaction, he mused, in the fact that some truly considered these beings superior. But the thought was dismissed as the man's skull crumbled against the wall and he realized now his hand would need to be cleaned.  
  
He idly wiped the blood and humors against the wall, leaving sticky trails of crimson handprints in their place. He turned to the next man and reached out with his hand gesturing him forward, gesturing and drawing him through the energy in the air around the man.  
  
He pushed the man down to the ground and smiled his sickly sweet smile, "I do so hope you have enjoyed the show so far, you have lost two of your comrades. Now where is my artifact?"  
  
Even the hardened assassin broke under the gaze, nearly in tears with the full knowledge that nothing could protect him against what must surely be a demon. No host of angels swooped in, no salvation here in the pain. "Our agent, he never returned."  
  
Grigori simply smiled down at the prisoner. He tilted his head as if considering this very deeply as he watched him. The only thing he contemplated however was how long to remain silent to create the maximum fear of the unknown. It was after all, a cultivated art administering fear in such a way.   
  
But there was hardly time for that, he let his fingers find the man's throat, and remove those necessary parts in another mess. Gloves, he pondered, were truly the way to go. These stains would take some time to wash clean. If he ever decided to wash them that was.  
  
Instead he looked to the final man with a grin, "I do hope you will help me find your missing agent without too much convincing."  
  
This man, though, still held out faith, strength. It was the reason the Grigori left him alive, he would be the most useful puppet of the group. And the defiance was clear in his eyes, "I will be your guide but I will not for a moment stop praying that a thousand angels sweep down to destroy you and any like you."  
  
The Grigori simply smiled, with a tilt of his head, "Ah, but that has already been done. And I am still here"  
  
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He watches the blaze of the building. He watched the men of the district valiantly try and prevent it from spreading. And only one word crossed his lips. "Grigori."  
  
It was ironic, he almost would have liked to have help stop the fire. The degree of power however, that it would take was both within his reach and beyond his capabilities. There were rules to be followed. And he turned.  
  
There would still be other clues, somewhere.  
  
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Enrique de Luna was a patriotic man, he was a man who devoted his life to God and country . And he was a man who was going to be very rich, he considered.  
  
Espionage did not normally pay so well, but with what he had in his hand he had little doubt that one of the two generals would reward him well. And if the first price was too low, it was simply a matter of speaking to the other.  
  
As he snuck out of the walls of the city, he found a horse in the guard stables.  
  
He drew his bloodied knife out and planted it through the back of the stableboy's spine to make sure he would tell no tales. Then the thin blade returned to its place and he was gone into the night.  
  
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Grigori was growing more frustrated by the moment. Things were simply spinning out of control and there was nothing worse than a plan which wouldn't work in an orderly fashion.   
  
"I thought your agent's were supposed to be the best? Is this all the work you do for Allah?" He demanded as he laid a blow across his guides cheek sufficient to send him against the alley wall and then to the ground.  
  
The man's eyes still burned with defiance and though he only was able to bring enough balance to return him to his knees, his words were spat with vitriol. "You are an unclean beast, and you have profaned his name on your lips. The eyes of god shall fall upon you."  
  
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He didn't know where to go. But he certainly had to do something.   
  
There was a noise in the alley, he normally wouldn't have cared, there were lots of noises in the city this night. But something pulled him towards it. The way the voice he heard sounded perhaps?  
  
He reaches into his cloak as he moved into the dark alley.  
  
Part Four - Different Colors Made of Tears  
  
The Grigori was ahead of him now and he had already run out of patience. There was one body at the beast's feet dead and another still breathed but the dimness in his spirit suggested it could not long be insured.   
  
Rules be damned, this was personal now. His fingers coursed with energy clinging over his gloves. The stonework of the houses lining the alleyway rumbled with the rush of force that pushed past him towards the Grigori.   
  
The man at his feet turned to hobble and run while the Grigori was distracted, only it was not fear painted on Grigori's face. Intense concentration formed and the shadows of the alleyway leapt up to his defense, forming a shield of tangible darkness, soaking away the force and causing him only to shift lightly backward.  
  
"I suppose telling you this isn't what it looks like wouldn't placate you, my friend?"   
  
"I have told you once, you are not my friend." And with that he called out to the objects surrounding Grigori and pelting them towards him in a torrent. "You should never have woken here."  
  
The torrent of stones couldn't harm him, but it distracted him and he growled a bit, his sculpted features sliding to show darker eyes than any human could bare. "You are wasting your time, the assassin lost the item."  
  
"What?" The question was incredulous. The least one could hope for with a group of trained assassins was accuracy. Why must mortals be so useless? "Fine, do you know where it is?"  
  
The Grigori grinned. It wasn't the hand he had intended to play, but this would perhaps be just as good. "Its riding north right now. Hurry before the armies get it." A thoughtful pause marked the air. "On second thought, don't."   
  
He felt the air constrict around him while he had been planning how to find whoever had his goal. He began to pull his own energies back but it was too late. His foe hadn't meant to hurt him, only slow him down as he felt the weight grow in his arms.  
  
"So many distractions, my friend. This is three now? I shall be watching, don't disappoint." And with a laugh, the Grigori stepped back down the alley, the darkness welcoming him home.  
  
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The rewards for serving one's general well were many, and Enrique fully intended to taste them all. The train following the force was dotted with warm fires and now that de Vivar had his little trinket, Enrique could feast amongst them. A hero were the words used. The words meant little, the hero's gold however was pure and more than he would have made in a decade of legitimate soldiering.   
  
It was gold that would buy his grave, after the men would clean his body up the next morning. Spiced wines may raise spirits but it seems his cup destroyed them. And his death was watched and measured against the price of interference.  
  
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The force-web surrounding him was expertly done. He chastised his lack of attention again but he realized there was little that could be done. Better to focus his attention on the problem. Would that he could have cleft it the way Alexander did his own knot but that power was not given to him. Not on something like this and never for himself.  
  
The key to this sort of fine manipulation was finding out the true intent of the one who put it there. He knew at the very least that his foe had one pleasure above all other. Watching the chaos that came of his plans. Dreaming and sleeping of each new deed before implementing them. But was it as simple as all that.  
  
He knew his foe to also be a lonely creature, like himself. By nature solitary and with their own purpose. Was it because he had spurned his hand of friendship? He closed his eyes and let his senses seep into the web. He felt each inch of the magic that formed it and he took a few deep breaths.  
  
Then a smile spread across his lips. The answer was simple in the end. Without an opponent, a foil, things wouldn't be fun for him. The selfish fun was his motivation and the webs began to fall away into the unseen.   
  
And now northward.  
  
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Rodirigo Diaz de Vivar was a patient man, even when prideful. It was how he survived so long. It was a quality that he had intended to serve him for many years. But that pride was also there, it may not have interrupted his patience but it did tamper with his goals.   
  
He held the item that his agent had brought him. The cost of the gold was inconsequential if this was truly of the importance the feelings from it suggested. A holy artifact perhaps. Or simply some sort of Muslim secret weapon. Regardless, power was in his fingertips.  
  
There was a shuffle behind him as his tent flap was opened. He turned ready to roar out that he left orders not to be interrupted but froze when he saw that the man who had entered was not known to him, not clad in his colors or those of Castille. His orders changed to a question. "How did you get in?"  
  
"That isn't the question you should be asking, General. Your question should be why am I here," the stranger spoke, his voice calm and slow. He didn't want to upset the man but he had business here.  
  
"Very well, I will play your game for the moment, stranger. Why are you here?"  
  
He smiles gently, "You have an item that I would like. A trinket of some sentimental value. In return, I can give you information you wish."  
  
Rodirigo paused, looking thoughtful in response to this. Theoretical power in the hand versus knowledge in the field may well be a trade off worth making but not until he knew what the material was. "What would stop me from killing you once I had the information and keeping that and this?" He asked and lifted up the man's goal.  
  
"Because if that were a danger, I would not have been able to come directly to your tent without a single one of your men being able to stop me."  
  
De Vivar nodded once, he couldn't fault the man's confidence. And there was simply something about him he liked. "What can you offer me? My spies have already given me all that I need to know about Toledo."  
  
The stranger only smiled once. "I can give you something closer to your heart, the secret almost every man would die for. I can give you the path to immortality."  
  
He blinked once, taking in the stranger's words. Could such a thing be true, he wondered. If so, what a risk it would be worth. Some trinket that was of no value to him? And besides why shouldn't he give the man back his memento. It would only be just.  
  
"Tell me," the man requested lightly, holding out the artifact.   
  
The stranger took it, leaning in to whispers, "Take Valencia and you will live forever."  
  
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The vintage theater had been showing El Cid. He had to wonder how different history would have been had the man truly talked and sounded like Charleton Heston.  
  
But his eyes drew to a sword on the wall of his apartment. An antique that he had found many years before. The sword of El Cid and the Stranger thought back as he looked at it.  
  
"My words were true, though I wonder if you understood their meaning." 


End file.
